


Toothache

by orphan_account



Series: Bart & co. [3]
Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bartimaeus the Great is suffering. His Mum thinks she is funny. Faquarl...just carries on. Meat pie is mentioned (several times).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toothache

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreyonea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreyonea/gifts).



> I had a terrible teeth pain last week so poor Bart had to suffer the consequences. My friend gave me these words to use: zoo, apple, book, can, plushie.

I was in agony. For three days straight. I wished for a merciful release of death.   
“You really ought to see a dentist, Bart. How long do you want to suffer like this?”  
I cracked an eye open to shot my mother my best “are you serious, mum, I am almost an adult” look.   
“I don´t need to see a dentist, mum,” I said (ehm....well, more like “croaked”). “It will pass. I can make it.”  
“Bartimaeus.” She sat next to me, down on my bed where I was curled up for the last three days (not whimpering or crying, of course. I am strong. I am Bartimaeus the Great. I can take a little pain. I was only waiting for it to pass). “You know how ridiculous it is to think that by going to the dentist people will consider you weak...?”  
“Not people,” I responded, “Faquarl.” (Yes, I admit. I CARED about what Faquarl thought of me, okay? And there is nothing wrong with it...)  
For a moment, only for a moment I thought that my mum will break into laugh. But in the end she probably decided that it wouldn´t be the best idea and got hold of herself. She settled to tapping my shoulder in a “there, there” fashion and stood up.   
“Do as you think is best for you, Bart,” she said in a half-mocking mother tone. “After all, you are almost an adult. I have to go to work now. Your father is already gone. And I can´t let you home alone.”  
“I am an adult.”  
“In half a year,” she reminded me kindly. “And you need someone to look after you. I called Faquarl.”  
“WHAT?” I shrieked. (In a quite high-pitched way. It wasn´t a sound I am particularly proud of).  
“Yes, I mean, you seem to be very good friends these days....” (My mother seems like a really great, nice, kind and motherly woman and most the time, she even stands up to the title. But then comes a moment like this one. When she turns into a terrible, sarcastic and witty witch who has no shame. I suppose I shouldn´t be surprised....my father married her. He must´ve had a good reason).   
I choked.   
“Are you okay, honey? I´d swear you turned a bit red,” she remarked innocently and I could feel my cheeks burn. (Ehm....I suppose I should tell you a thing - it turned out that during that....hm...meat pie incident, we weren´t alone. One of Ptolemy´s cousins saw us. Told Ptolemy´s mother. And since Ptolemy´s mother is friends with mine, she told her. I am sure they had a great laugh over it. That´s one of the reasons why I don´t like kids. They are EVERYWHERE and you don´t even know about them half the time. Little spies).   
“Yes, yes, I am okay,” I replied, determined to play her game till the very end, as always (once, when I was a little kid I broke an oil lamp she brought from Egypt, when we moved here. She found out and she KNEW that I did it, of course. But I said that there was a djinni who escaped the lamp by breaking it. She had remarks for the whole WEEK on that matter, trying to catch me red handed, but I carried on with my story).  
“In that case, I´ll be going,” she sat up (not before patting my head. Muuuum....). “We are going to have a busy day at the ZOO, it´s possible I will be coming home late. Your dad also mentioned something like that. So you and Faquarl will have plenty of time.” (Yes mum, okay, I get it. You are mocking me for Faquarl again. I get it.)  
I sat on my bed, pouting. I even forgot about the toothache for a while. For a while.   
***  
Faquarl came half an hour after my mother left. He was carrying a couple of soup cans in one hand and....a...a cat plushie in the other.   
“Hi,” he greeted me when I opened the door at last (it´s not like my way down the stairs lasted intentionally about six minutes more than usually) and stepped in, not even waiting for my response. He headed straight for the kitchen.   
“Hi,” I mumbled under my breath and closed the door. “You don´t expect me to eat a canned soup, do you?”  
“Well,” he said, placing the cans on the kitchen table, “your mother told me that she won´t be coming back until nine and that we are free to use the kitchen. And since you don´t know how to cook...and you claim that my meat pies taste like cats...you do not have a choice.”  
“What about pizza,” I proposed.   
“I thought your teeth hurt.”  
I winced at the idea of chewing something chewier than a pudding and admitted that he had a point. Just to myself, of course. It´s not like I would say it out loud.   
“Listen, Faquarl....” I started, taking a step closer. “I appreciate that you came. But there was a mistake. I really don´t need you to....”  
I was forced to shut my mouth when Faquarl tossed me the cat. I started at it for a moment before looking up at my (???????) friend. It...it looked cute. Kinda like a sand cat. It was light brown, bit orange and covered in stripes.   
“It´s for you,” he said in the end and I would swear that tips of his ears turned red. “I saw it and thought it looks like you.”  
“You think that....I look like a cat?” I remarked with a raised eyebrow.  
“Sand cat,” he corrected me promptly. “Arabian sand cat.”  
I hummed (in appreciation? No, no. I don´t think so. It was just that typical to-fill-in-an-embarassing-silence hum. Nothing more) and sat the cat on the table. It watched me with glassy eyes. When I looked up, Faquarl was watching me as well.   
I sat on the chair.  
Faquarl started tinkering with the kitchen utensils. I wished he would stop it and pay attention to me. However, he appeared to be preparing the soup (the canned monstrosity which claimed to be a soup). I sighed and started fidgeting with the cat.   
When I looked up again, Faquarl was eating an apple, watching me (no, no, please, don´t let it end like the last time. Meat pie is okay, but apple, no. Also, I can´t really chew an apple right now).   
“Listen, Bart,” he started, “why won´t you go to a dentist?”  
“Because I am stronger than that,” I answered.  
“How many pain pills did you have?”  
“None. I am stronger than that.”  
He fell silent for a while, chewing at the apple. I was doing my best to push the pain at the edge of my consciousness. I realized that watching Faquarl helps. Kinda.  
“You must be half mad with the pain,” Faquarl remarked and I was forced to admit that he was, once again, right. Once again, not out loud.  
“Only a bit,” I croaked and he turned to the kitchen counter.   
“Where does your mom keep all of her cookbooks?” he asked after a while. “Maybe I could make something better then a canned soup.”


End file.
